


Tempus Fugit

by neko11lover



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-10
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neko11lover/pseuds/neko11lover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Gokudera, the room, and The Waiting Chair, it had been 7:28 for almost a year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempus Fugit

**Author's Note:**

> Written with the help of [31_days](http://31_days.livejournal.com), October 2, 2010 prompt, _but I am sick of time_. This was written before Yamamoto's reappearance in the Shimon arc and set TYL.
> 
> Thank you to the amazing Kemi-chii for the beta!

_  
But meanwhile it flees: time flees irretrievably, while we wander around, prisoners of our love of detail.   
_

\- Virgil

 

Time was Gokudera Hayato's enemy.

He sat on the metal chair, his eyes half-glazed as it remained fixed on the face of the large clock on the table in front of him. After the battle with the Shimon family, Tsuna placed it there, in front of what Haru fondly called 'The Waiting Chair', saying decisively, “Yamamoto will wake up before this clock stops.”

Gokudera blinked the memory away, and stared at the inscription on the clock.    
_  
Tempus fugit   
_   
, it said. He looked at the sleeping boy on the bed beside his chair.

To Gokudera, the room, and The Waiting Chair, it had been 7:28 for almost a year.

Yamamoto was still asleep.

 

–

 

Every time Gokudera visited (   
_  
every night, every holiday, every chance he could get   
_   
), bits and pieces of his memory would come back to him. He would remember the first time he set foot on Japan, how annoying the baseball idiot was during middle school, how Yamamoto's face looked like when he was injured. They were always a mix of good and bad – mostly good, and these flashbacks were, perhaps, the most painful part of waiting.

Gokudera remained stuck in the memories, just like the waiting chair clock, as life went on all around him.

  


-

 

Gokudera had always thought about replacing the clock's batteries.

It was a beautiful clock, after all. Its numbers were written in beautiful Roman calligraphy, and its hands were elegant, curving arrows. The sides were painted a deep maroon, almost black, and made out of heavy material. It used to make a sound like bells every time it struck twelve. They all bought it with the money they pooled from classmates, family and friends.

A lot of people used to offer to change it for him, but Gokudera found himself declining.

A part of him wanted time to wait with him, until Yamamoto stopped sleeping.

The time will not move, unless Yamamoto did.

 

–

 

Sometimes, friends would visit with him.

They would bring another chair, and put it beside The Waiting Chair, where Gokudera always sat. Whoever stayed with him would say the same thing, like how Gokudera had mellowed out or they would recount more memories, to pass the time. Some would sleep beside Gokudera, while some would try to keep him awake (not that they needed to).

Gokudera would then realize that only    
_  
his    
_   
life had changed, and after these visits, he would often wonder if he could ever change it back.

 

–

 

Once, around four years ago, Gokudera wondered if a kiss could wake him up (he tried a punch, a kick and a stream of bad words further back, and he got thrown out).

Awkwardly, he climbed on top of the bed, and gingerly took off the mouth piece of Yamamoto's breathing aid. He pushed his face against Yamamoto's, their noses bumping, and felt Yamamoto's cold, chapped lips against his own. He stopped, and stared. He did it again.

Nothing happened, and Gokudera punched Yamamoto lightly on the cheek.

“You made me give you my first kiss, you bastard,” he whispered, as he carefully put the mouthpiece back. “You should take responsibility.”

He climbed down the bed and never tried it again.

That was the last time Gokudera cried.

 

–

 

Years had gone by.

Gokudera had grown even older now, and he had even grown a stubble and strands of white on his silver locks. His fortieth birthday was nearing. The Vongola was still going strong. Everyone else was married. Or dead.

Most people suggested to have Yamamoto 'put to rest' and to avoid the very possible brain damage when – if ever – he woke up. No one could predict what could happen after all, they said. Gokudera argued against it vehemently.

“The damn idiot would die when he wants to,” he would tell them, “so go fuck yourselves.”

Still, he kept visiting. Every night, after work, he would sit in The Waiting Chair, looking at the clock, or watching the lines on Yamamoto's cardiac monitor, which had more life than anything else in the room.

 

–

 

One day, for the first time, Gokudera drifted off while waiting. He was getting old, and he couldn't stay up as late as he used to. He didn't go out much now (he was retired, he said, but in all truth, he was just tired of it all), and spent most of his days in the hospital, right next to the invalid Rain Guardian.

He woke up at the sound of a prolonged beep. It was Yamamoto's cardiac monitor. On it was a line.

Quickly, with silent panic on his face, Gokudera sat up from Yamamoto's bed, and was about to stand up and call for help, when he realized that Yamamoto's hand was on his own. Almost instinctively, Gokudera turned.

It was 7:29.

 

-

 _  
Time goes, you say? Ah no!  
_ _ Alas, Time stays, _ _ **we**_ _go.  
  
_

 __~Henry Austin Dobson

 

 **  
FIN.   
**


End file.
